


Intimacy

by Jude81



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-08
Updated: 2015-11-08
Packaged: 2018-04-30 16:54:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5171954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jude81/pseuds/Jude81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes a hug is more intimate than a kiss. Just ask Lexa and Clarke.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Intimacy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lordofdeathn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lordofdeathn/gifts).



> I know. I should be updating TPWID. But this was inspired by something Lordofdeathn said about how a Clexa hug could be more intimate than a kiss. And since I quite agree with him, here it is. Hope you enjoy.

She leaned her hands on the table, staring idly at the diagrams in front of her. But she wasn’t really seeing them. The shapes on the paper were indistinct, blurred shadows of what they could be, what they were meant to be. Just like so much else in her world. She felt the first pangs of today’s headache slither behind her eyes, and she winced momentarily. She knew the sun was just starting to peek over the trees surrounding her temporary village, and she couldn’t help but feel discouraged and exhausted from the rapidly building pain so early in the morning. She knew there would be no relief today. Just like the day before, and just like tomorrow.

She sighed and stood up slightly, shaking her arms out lightly as the weight eased from her strained muscles. She gently shuffled the papers on the table, her fingers lightly skimming the rough and fibrous paper. She hesitated for a moment, letting her finger casually trace the thick outlines of the various shapes. The ink had bled into the paper, rendering the designs even harder to read, but the Trikru were used to such things, not having the tools in the village to produce finite drawings, unlike the Skaikru who had finely honed drawing instruments.

She only hoped Raven would be able to interpret the designs, and hopefully improve on them. She smiled slightly, knowing it would probably take a great deal of convincing to get the Skaikru Tinka to help, but she had learned in the last few months that challenging the other girl’s ability to do something was the perfect way to get her to do it. She shook her head slightly. The tinka was stubborn. She frowned thinking about another stubborn Skaikru she knew. One who was due any moment.

And right on cue, she heard the voice outside her tent. She cocked her head, listening intently to the sounds, not so much the voices but the sounds of dirt scraping against rocks, the creak of a leather scabbard, the whisper of cloth against the heavy leather of the tent, and finally the whump of the heavy flaps falling back into place as the other girl stepped through.

She narrowed her eyes at the brief flare of early sunlight that slipped in behind Clarke. Her eyes watered slightly, and she barely managed not to suck in a breath at the pulse of pain that thumped behind her eyes. She couldn’t help the instinctive twist of her lips though at the flash of pain. She just hoped it hadn’t been noticed.

“Clarke.” She didn’t bother to look up, nor turn to greet the Skai Heda. She kept her eyes narrowed, staring at the table while she attempted to regain control. After a brief moment, she heard the answering grunt followed by an irritated huff. She wanted to smile at the sound, because she knew it wasn’t just because she hadn’t turned to greet Clarke, but was also because Clarke was not known for her civility so early in the morning anyway.

“Lexa.”

Her fingertips instinctively tightened on the rough paper when she heard the low burr of her name behind her. She barely squelched the shiver that threatened to tremble up her spine. She straightened and tensed her back muscles in a deliberate attempt to regain control of her traitorous body. She felt the irritation build, and something sparked at the base of her spine. She couldn’t identify the feeling or even the emotion that had caused it. All she knew was she needed Clarke to leave. Now.

She fisted the papers in her hand, and with her head still bent slightly down toward the table, she turned just enough to wave her arm vaguely out to the side in a gesture for Clarke to take them.

“Here are the designs. I would appreciate it if Raven would review them.” She kept her head angled away from Clarke, and when she heard the footsteps behind her; she carefully and slowly angled her body away from Clarke, so she wouldn’t have to see her.

Clarke was surprised, and she shuffled to a stop only a couple feet behind Lexa. Since their people had entered an uneasy truce in the months after the mountain, and finally an alliance; Lexa and Clarke had managed to find their own common ground. And while they didn’t talk as they had once, keeping their interactions to a minimum; this was different. Lexa had never deliberately refused to look at her. As a matter of face, Lexa had always made it a point to meet her gaze, in what she assumed was a show of stoic strength.

She let her gaze drift along the strong lines of the other girl’s shoulders and back, down past the swell of her bottom. She flushed when she realized her eyes had lingered just a little too long. She narrowed her eyes when she realized that something wasn’t quite right. She could see the tight lines of her muscles. She bit her lower lip, feeling the first niggle of worry crawl into her belly and take root. Lexa had lost weight. Clarke should know. She had spent enough months staring at the body before her when Lexa wasn’t looking.

Her attention was broken by the flutter of paper, and she stared in confusion at the arm that held out the papers to her. She blinked and grasped the papers in her hand, but didn’t pull. She waited for Lexa to release them, and her eyes narrowed again at the way her arm just barely trembled. She started to shuffle around Lexa’s outstretched arm, so she could see her face, but as soon as she did; Lexa released the papers and turned fully away from Clarke and slowly walked over to her throne.

Clarke stared down at the slightly crumpled pieces of paper in her hand and then looked back up at Lexa, only to be greeted by her back. She wanted to growl in frustration. It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it. She never had been.

“I will see that Raven gets these. I know she has a few ideas on building the necessary towers, so we can better utilize the radios. I’m sure she can incorporate them with these designs.” Clarke hefted the papers in her hand and waited, but when an answer wasn’t forthcoming, she snorted and turned and stomped her way to the tent flaps.

Her anger was sour on her tongue, and she was frustrated that it was always like this. Lexa only speaking to her when necessary, and only about the alliance and the plans for the towers. They rarely spoke of anything beyond what their people needed, and the invitation to Polis had not been extended again.

She hesitated at the doorway, her hand on the flap. She turned back to look at Lexa who still hadn’t moved. She grit her teeth, “You know what, Lexa….” Her voice trailed off and instead of continuing with the ‘fuck you’ as she had intended, she simply shook her head and growled under her breath. It wasn’t worth it. She wasn’t worth it. She ignored the wrench of pain in her heart at the thought. She had gotten used to denial these past months. She could live with it a while longer.

She pushed through the tent flaps, but stopped after only a few feet. She looked up at the sun slowly pushing its rays through the dark trees. She shivered lightly as she inhaled deeply. She didn’t think she would ever get used to the delightful, mellow burn that stretched through her lungs as the cold air rushed into her body. She smiled as the air sat heavy and fresh on her tongue. It tasted like rain and sun and dirt and trees. It tasted like freedom. Like life. And the thought rushed unbidden into her mind, _did Lexa taste the same?_ She viciously crushed the idea, but it had already taken root; and she felt her cheeks burn.

She turned slowly back to stare at the tent. She nervously chewed on her lower lip. Something was wrong. Something had been wrong for a long time. Lexa had only returned from Polis two months ago, after being gone for almost four months. Lexa had refused to speak of what had happened in Polis, other than to state she had been taking care of coalition business; but Clarke had heard rumblings. Not all of the clans were satisfied with the new alliance with the Skaikru.

She started walking back to the tent, her feet dragging with each step. Something was wrong, and she wasn’t sure she even wanted to know what it was. Because she didn’t know if she would be able to fix it, or more importantly would she want to try?

*************************************

Lexa let her shoulders slump when she heard Clarke finally leave, but it was the slump of defeat as opposed to relief. Part of her had wanted to turn and speak to Clarke, to see let her eyes soak in the sight of the face she had grown accustomed to, but she was afraid of her own weakness. So she had simply refused to face Clarke. She just didn’t have the strength today.

She grunted tiredly. At least her self-preservation instincts were intact when it came to Clarke. But she wished they weren’t necessary. She wished she could let her guard down, let herself relax, let herself smile, let herself rest with Clarke.

She glanced at her throne, letting her fingers trace the smooth wood of the arm rest. She wondered how many other Hedas had done the same, in a vain attempt to soothe themselves from the madness of the world. Who had the Hedas confided in? Love? Trusted? She felt the pang in her chest, and felt the coldness seep in. She knew the answer already. Hedas didn’t have the luxuries of trust and love, not with countless wars to be fought, not with hands perpetually stained with blood.

She wondered what Gustus would say to her now. Would he tell her it was ok to be tired? To be weak? That the war was over, and she had the right to let herself love, to accept it in return? She bit back a groan as the pain pulsed behind her eyes, and she felt the tears gather. She could hear Anya’s gruff voice in her ear telling her tears were for the weak. Hedas didn’t cry. They fought through their pain. They turned their pain into anger and used it to fuel their wars.

Her stomach roiled, and she felt the tangy bite on her tongue, and she crashed her teeth together, fighting to hold back the vomit. Each day it was getting worse. She breathed harshly through her nose, her shoulders slumped as she bent over, refusing to vomit on her floor. She was better than that! She wasn’t weak. She swallowed it back down, and slowly straightened, feeling the pain flare through her entire skull. She saw the lights dance behind her closed eyelids, and she swayed slightly.

And then she heard the flaps open, and she imagined she could feel the very air move around her, as the pained nerves of her senses pinged. “Get. Out.” She snarled at the sound of her guard moving into the room. How dare he! Except…

“No, Lexa.”

And she wanted to cry. She wanted to simply unlock her knees and fall to the ground. Would Clarke catch her if she did? She would she at least try? She clenched the arm of her throne tightly. It was all that was holding her up, and she didn’t know if she had the strength to drive Clarke away. She didn’t know if she even wanted to at this point.

“Leave, Clarke.” She barely managed to get it out. She felt the wild thrill of fear shiver through her muscles. She was going to fall. She was going to let go, and she couldn’t stop herself. She had to make Clarke leave. But before her hazy mind could formulate words to drive the blonde away, the blonde threw the gauntlet to the floor.

“Why would I leave when you are so good at it, Lexa?” Clarke crossed her arms tightly across her chest to keep herself from reaching out to the girl in front of her. She could see the tremor in the muscles, the whitened clench around the arm rest of the throne. She could almost imagine she heard the wood protesting and creaking under the strain of the other girl’s grip. She wasn’t leaving. Not this time. It seemed they were always leaving each other, and she briefly wondered why this time? Why this moment that she was going to stand her ground against Lexa.

Lexa couldn’t help the wet laugh that burst from her throat, from deep in the cold hollow of her chest. Of course. Damn her. Today she would choose to stay and fight Lexa. Always before, she would calmly leave when Lexa ordered it, her cold blue eyes never betraying anything. It was an unnerving trait the blonde had acquired, and she winced knowing where she had learned it. She drew in a wet, ragged breath. She was so tired.

“Look at me, Lexa.”

“Why?” She barely choked it out. The back wall of the tent swam in her vision, and she didn’t know if it was tears or if she was simply too dizzy to see anything correctly.

“Because I’m tired of looking through you. I’m tired of you not seeing me.” Clarke felt the tight pull in her lower belly. She had surprised herself with the words. It wasn’t what she had thought she was going to say, but it was apparently what she meant. She carefully eyed the trembling body in front of her, the worry growing.

She slowly, carefully reached out. Her hand hovered in the air between them, and she saw Lexa tense in front of her; as if she knew what she was going to do next, despite still having her back turned towards her. She swallowed hard, wondering why it was so difficult to bridge the remaining distance. She wasn’t sure she wanted to decipher the feeling growing in her chest. Wasn’t so sure she was ready to face it. This…this fear. She grit her teeth. She was afraid. Afraid Lexa would reject her again. And her anger at her own fear made her bridge the distance.

Lexa tensed when she felt the hand on her back, the heavy palm that rested squarely between her shoulder blades. It was strong and sure, it didn’t tremble; and Lexa couldn’t help the air that rushed past her lips. She didn’t even have the strength to curse her own treacherous muscles that trembled and then stilled under the warm weight of Clarke’s touch.

She felt the first tear slip past her eyelid, and it slowly wound its way down, catching at the corner of her open mouth as she panted lightly. She could taste the salt that stained her lips as another tear followed the first, and then another. She wondered if Clarke could feel the heavy, chaotic thump of her heart. Could she feel the vibration against her palm? She imagined the heavy beat straining against Clarke’s palm, imagined it slid and slithered up through the muscles of her arm, causing them to tremble and thump in time with her beat. She imagined the beat of her heart nestling into the beat of Clarke’s.

Lexa smiled past the thin veil of tears that soaked her skin. She was done fighting. So she slowly turned to meet Clarke’s gaze, not sure what she would find. But as she turned, she could feel the faint strike of hope push up through her muscles and flush across her skin.

Clarke wasn’t prepared for the tears that wound their way down the girl’s face. She was even more surprised by the small smile, but it did nothing to hide the pain flaring in Lexa’s eyes. She could see the tight lines in the girl’s neck, the way she held her head, afraid to move it too much. And she felt the sympathy burn in her own chest along with…something else.

“It’s ok, Lexa,” she whispered. She took a deep breath, part of her wondering if she was being an idiot for what she was going to do next. It shouldn’t require so much courage to simply raise your arms, but it did; and Clarke was proud of herself for managing to hold her arms out to Lexa, hoping the girl wouldn’t reject her.

“It’s ok, Lexa,” she whispered again, slightly wiggling her fingers at the brunette, who stared at her with what she could only describe as trepidation. It was unnerving. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle Lexa, except Clarke. But it had been many months since Lexa had looked at her like this, not since the mountain.

Lexa stood there, slightly dumbfounded. What was she doing? She….No, almost shook her head, but just managed to stop herself, not wanting to deal with the flare of pain it would cause. She licked her lips nervously, her eyes slowly moving between Clarke’s outstretched arms and her face.

A hug.

Clarke was asking for a hug. Except…she bit her lip, and her fingers twitched. No, she was offering a hug. And for the first time in years, Lexa wanted to throw herself into another’s arms. Not for the sake of a quick tangle, but to simply be held tightly, to be protected, to be loved. And she wondered if she dared. She would be weak, vulnerable. She would be open to ridicule and contempt. She felt the anxiety build in her belly, and even as she desperately wanted to take those two steps into Clarke’s arms, she couldn’t. It was too hard. Too intimate.

Clarke saw it, the moment Lexa made the decision, and she felt her hopes plummet, and tears sting her eyes. Damn her! And damn herself for thinking that Lexa could change, that Lexa could ever trust her enough to want her again. She exhaled harshly through her nose, and just as she started to lower her arms, feeling more than a little foolish and hurt; she saw something flicker in the deep green eyes.

She stopped, her arms half lowered and simply stared at the brunette who had taken a half step back. She narrowed her eyes at the girl, watching as the heat slowly blossomed across the skin that shouldn’t have looked so pale. Shame. She knew that flush. She was intimately acquainted with the heat of shame that burned into her own flesh, searing her regrets and doubts inside forever.

She raised her chin a little and stepped closer to Lexa, raising her arms again. “You are not weak, Lexa. You are the Heda of the twelve clans, the Deliverer of your people. You are the Peacemaker. You are the strongest of us, and you always will be.” She wiggled her fingers again, gesturing between Lexa and herself, “This will not change that.” She waited.

And waited.

And waited. Refusing to back down. Refusing to turn and leave.

“I’m not leaving, Lexa.” She waited.

And waited.

She bit her lip hard when she saw Lexa finally take that first step, her green eyes wet and worried. She wanted to smile, but was too much emotion would simply overwhelm the other girl, whom she suspected hadn’t been hugged in years.

And the moment she felt the warm trembling body slide between her arms, and felt the harsh pant of breath against her neck, she knew she had been right.

Lexa closed her eyes tightly, her muscles tight and rigid. She could barely stand the strain as she felt the pain in her head firing rapidly. She wanted to vomit again, so she bit her tongue hard, and the taste of wet, thick iron somehow soothed her. There were only inches between their bodies, and she could smell Clarke. She wanted to inhale sharply and deeply, but she was afraid the other girl would shove her away if she did.

Clarke slowly brought her arms up aground Lexa’s back, resisting the urge to pull her in to her body, to shelter her without permission. No, Lexa needed to take that final step. She needed to seek what Clarke would willingly offer. She had to realize, understand, or this would all be for nothing. So she lightly rested her arms around Lexa, waiting for the girl to become accustomed to her touch, to the heat of her body, to her smell. She hoped she liked it. She blushed at the thought.

Lexa felt the light weight of Clarke’s arms around her back, but nothing happened; and she didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She could just barely feel the strong body in front of her, feel Clarke’s heat, smell the wind and stars etched in her skin. She breathed harshly through her mouth, and shuffled closer until their bodies touched.

“Klark,” she whispered. And her head came to rest on the strong shoulder in front of her, and she felt the arms slowly tighten around her, and instead of being afraid; she felt an immeasurable sense of relief sweep through her muscles, and she trembled.

Her shoulders shook with the sob that finally burst forth, and she felt something press into her hair, and it took her a moment to realize it was a kiss. She felt something hard and tight in her chest start to unravel. No one had pressed a kiss to her hair since her mother. Not even Costia had done that.

She raised her arms, slipping them around Clarke’s waist, and she finally…

Let go.

“Leska.” Clarke barely managed to whisper her name past the smile that was plastered across her face. She pressed another kiss into the soft curls that tickled her neck. She tightened her arms around the warm, solid body and tried not to laugh with simple joy at how Lexa sagged into her, the brunette tightening her arms around Clarke’s waist. Instead she hummed quietly under her breath, and simply held the other girl, occasionally pressing kisses to her head.

Lexa simply let herself melt into Clarke’s solid body, drawing her own strength from the other girl. This was right. This was how it was meant to be. Them. Together. Fighting for each other, drawing strength from each other. Loving each other. And she smiled.

Lexa was warm and solid, and heavy. But Clarke didn’t care. She was strong enough to bear Lexa’s weight. To bear her pain. She wasn’t ever leaving again. And neither was Lexa. So she closed her eyes, her cheek pressed against the crown of soft curls.

“I’ve got you, Leska. Always.”

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
